losing your memory
by lydiamartins
Summary: and the wheels just keep on turning; she doesn't know which way she's going, she doesn't know which way she's come -— massiecam friendship, implied massiederrick, for coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge, level four, part three!


**summary: **and the wheels just keep on turning; i don't know which way i'm going, i don't know which way i've come -— massiecam, massiederrick, for coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge, level four, part three!

**losing your memory**  
massie blocks

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There is boy, and there is a girl, and there is a wretched, wretched world.

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Once upon a time, they ruled the world —

A world where the hallways cleared for the two of them; they danced, side by side, underneath the limelight of a chandelier, glowing down upon the opulent nature of the ballroom - they held hands, and Massie had lifted her pasty dress, spinning around effortlessly, as if dancing with him was meant to be. There were perennials on the sides of their respective schools, and days when she had felt as though nothing could go wrong - everybody had stated that they were the utopian couple, that the two of them were meant to be, forever and always.

In a way, she used to believe that too, all the way back then, though, when everything had been much simpler. She's not a child anymore, though. Massie walks through the hyperborean streets of the Upper East Side, glaring at skyscrapers and individuals who seem to be so in love that it hurts to watch them; tears slip down her cheeks, and she immediately wipes them up, knowing that displaying any sign of emotion would be showing that he won.

He would have won everything - and it can't be right to give up so easily like that, but Massie doesn't think that she wants to carry on with their battles anymore; there's the feeling of victory, but it isn't worth the crushing pain of loss that forces her to break down inside, and like those bowling pins - out of everything, she still remembers those bowling pins - not be able to get back up, forcefully of course. She crumbles to the floor, and lets the darkness envelop her, stumbling along the street, feeling a certain decrepitude (at the age of seventeen).

The oak trees are scattered across the gathering; their trunks are gnarled, ancient with age, and twisted together like fervent lovers. They loom from the ground like a legion of witches brandishing brooms; they're surrounded by beautiful lilies and short sprouts of grass that are being grown on both sides - after all, beauty is found in the symmetry of nature. In the dark of the night - the park is deserted, maybe because of her - Massie reaches out into the depths of darkness, and fumbles for the box, draws out the first match, and struck it against the side.

It sputters, glowing, and then comes to life, a single scarlet teardrop perched tenuously above her singed fingertips. She stares at the match as though it is a scented candle, still burning, but barely. The wax is pooling at the bottom, cooling quickly to form a new mold. It completely ruins the aesthetics of the candle. (Just like he completely ruined her life, basically.)

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There is a girl, and there is a boy, and the odds are not in their favor.

It happens in the middle of a bowling alley - of all places for something like this to happen.

Massie stares down at milky white pearls that form on the edges of her glass and examines a plate of innocent enough brownies; a small gift box is placed in front of her, and she wonders if it's right to assume that there's some sort of drugs somewhere in the food - or perhaps it could just be her strange nature.

Lazer lights, a combination of electric green and glaring red, stretch across the bowling alley - dance music booms throughout the room and empty glasses of all sorts of liquids are scattered across the floor. Bowling balls of all kinds crash into pins, crashing everything in their wake and Massie can't help but realize how easily the bowling pins are propped back up, almost as if they're being forced into place. Nevertheless, they don't seem to be dropping down just because something crashes into them - Massie wishes that she could be like the array of bowling pins.

She stares gloomily into the distance, sharply nodding her head towards the ancient television screens as some of her so called family friends achieve a strike - there are other friends back at the main table, where the other teenagers (they're not quite adults, but they're not quite children either) who seem to be making chubby versions of paper cranes and inhaling bubbly liquids. In a way, sometimes, Massie wishes that she could be like them - blissful and naïve and completely unaware that the world around them is absolutely horrible.

The four of them sit down on their cellphones and braid each others hair in waterfalls, tangles of messes forming in the end, but they're laughing incoherently as globs of each other's hair fall upon the floor. Yet, they all speak evasively, hiding their own ugly little secrets. She blinks and strides up to the center; Massie picks up a light pink ball and throws it into the lane - she hopes that she can destroy them, but they're barely even touched.

(Somehow, Kendra and William think that this 'experience' is salubrious to a growing child's lifestyle - Massie doesn't quite agree.)

Massie walks away with her head held high, her chin jutting out slightly, as if everybody is looking at her (but don't they have better things to do in their life?) and sits back in a swirling seat, ignoring the sudden surge of pain as the nylon fabric rubs against her thigh and she thinks that she was wrong - everything could get worse. There's a boy sitting next to her - one of those family friends whose sort of tolerable - and Massie imagines scenarios where they could be together while keeping a blank expression upon her face, then almost lets herself show emotion when she watches her family friends' parents (of course, her austere parents would be too occupied in their work and parties) attempt to dance like party animals to a remix of Harlem shake.

Massie inhales a bite of spinach quesadilla, filled with sautéed vegetables and rich sour cream and thick, gooey cheeses, savoring the taste for what seems to be forever. In a way, it seems as though everything is perfect - or as perfect as Massie's life will ever be (and she must forget him).

At night, Massie steps out the balcony, and wonder what would happen if she flew away; amber ringlets of hair are flying in the cold harshness of the wind —trying to separate itself from the queen, who is not exactly a queen anymore. She smooths it back down, smiling into the distance, as she walks back to her room, never being able to fall asleep again, thinking back to when everything was safe.

Massie examines herself (for flaws) in the mirror, nothing but bones and a skull, before an angel comes down, an angel of darkness, and comes for her, looking into her own amber eyes in a steely gaze, never looking back. Waking up in the middle of the night, walking into the middle of the parlor, as she becomes the evil queen, until she is cut open apart by her own rainbow veins.

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There is a girl, and there is a boy, and there's a glimmer of hope.

She eyes the hallways of a new school — all the way in London, where she could live in a castle, and escape everything back home, whether she wanted to, or not; and looked warily through the gap between the hallway. A curled ringlet of amber hair falls across her cheeks, and she brushed it away, gnawing on her lower lip, which tastes like strawberry and lemon, on the verge of a decision. As the stream of students thinned, she sees his more clearly shaggy blond hair, tanned skin, and those charming large brown eyes; Massie feels like Icarus drawing too close to the sun.

That initial moment of rapture came over her, observing him there, then was overtaken by fear and hurried thoughts as his head turned and Massie found herself staring at the inside of her locker again, cheeks flushed red and her heart jackhammering in her chest. Massie decides upon calling her mother - or the credit card company - in order to get on the first flight away from London, back to Westchester ( wherever she could find herself but this place ) because she can't bring herself to face him again.

She thinks that she's been avoiding him for too long, and Massie assumes that he wouldn't have followed her here, or maybe just found her as an accident, but she doesn't want to have to face her fears, all of her problems that she had left when she had fled a year back; but they had come back to her, just like Massie knew that they would.

That night, Massie stares at the ceiling — and for once, doesn't think about planning her own funeral. It seems as though she spends more time than a normal teenager would about death, but she can't help but imagine the darkness enveloping her, and suddenly, there's a spark, and then a flat line, and she won't be opening her eyes, not then, not ever again, kept inside a casket as her bones rot, decomposing as the flesh turns sallow - her blood would turn into a light white color, and it would all be so sudden, and perhaps, nobody would ever remember her.

After all, she doesn't seem to remember most of the people that she hadn't promised to keep contact with in Westchester - it seems like so long ago. There's a call from the police about a few hours later - Massie hears the name, and for a minute, she doesn't really care about what happened between them; no matter how much Massie has tried to deny it, maybe she still does care for him, after all. The limo's called shortly after, and she finds herself on the police scene, jumping out of the car - the sky is blue, and there's a pool of blood on the pavement (she feels sick) and the blaring signs of the police, and their expressions are all blank. Everything seems to be without emotion, and then she sees his face and Massie doesn't think that she'll be able to get off of the floor - not this time around.

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There is a girl, and there is no boy;

Derrick's funeral is the next day —

The two of them had planned their funerals back then, back in the golden ages, and she knows, just by staring at the area from a distance, that this isn't the way that he would have wanted everything to be. The overwhelming silence mangles her throat, and she thinks that it's okay to feel this way - her mother stares at her as though something's wrong with her darling daughter, something that needs to be fixed, but nobody understands.

Massie stares at the sky, and sees her reflection in his casket, and drops a purple pin upon the top, resting the dandelions on top — his mother looks at her strangely, as if she's insane, and Massie thinks that maybe she is. There's a tap on her shoulder, and she turns around, staring blankly into the eyes of Cameron Fisher, who's dressed in a pair of baggy shorts and a camouflage shirt and Massie thinks that somebody might understand; She looks back at him and gives a tentative smile, and laughs.

Cameron laughs back, and suddenly, the two of them are doubling over in front of their best friend's (and maybe a little more)'s grave, and everybody looks at them as though they're high in drugs, but everybody's almost sympathetic towards them because they know how close they were to Derrick — And the two of them, for a short period of time, really don't care.

Massie likes looking at Cameron - she tells him that one day, over coffee and whipped cream with Breakfast at Tiffany's.

He's sort of ugly — if she's really honest with herself, with these weird eyes that look like they're a mixture of mischief and trouble, but they're not really suited by his angelic blond curls or the fact that he keeps on wearing these knockoff leather jackets from his older brother, Harris.

Massie thinks that someday, maybe for Thanksgiving - the day seems to be coming around the corner soon enough - or something like that, she's going to buy him some flannel shirts or something normal that normal guys wear.

Then again, if Cameron was even close to normal, Massie doesn't think that the two of them would be such good friends - she doesn't like looking at him for the same reason that her best friend Claire likes looking (gazing in this stalker way that could be called lovesick) at him, not at all. She likes looking at him, because throughout her childhood, whenever she was with Cameron, Derrick would always be right behind him. Sometimes, when Massie still looks at Cameron, she can see Derrick.

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**notes |** i wrote this in march and i wanted to submit it for something; idk - beta-read by **amelia** (cinnamon countess), (:

this is for coppertone wars' twelve days of christmas challenge, level four, part three! the song choice is losing your memory by ryan star.


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